


take me away

by 99izm



Category: Produce 101 (TV), Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robin Hood, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 15:02:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12135024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/99izm/pseuds/99izm
Summary: Park Woojin tries to steal from the richest man in Busan. But he gets away with something else.





	take me away

Busan’s located at the most bottom of South Korea, a seaport that welcomes many visitors: people who hailed from all over the world. Traders attempt to make a quick profit by selling exotic goods and the people in Busan bath in the sheer variety of products that they get, boasting to the people in Seoul: “Look at this bracelet that came all the way from Persia!” People are always attracted to the good and the bright side of things, so visitors are drawn in and blinded by the glitter and shimmer that the city is bathed in.

It’s a purposeful act, an act that everyone so readily gets absorbed by as they desire to pursue the good life. They ignore the grim and darkness that comes with the flip of a coin– it’s always easier to pretend not to see the dark side. The officials turn a blind eye to the rotting poverty, the slums that have been tucked away at the borders of Busan. They ignore the pleas for help while continuing to indulge in their excessiveness and Park Woojin thinks, that they are the worst people to ever walk this world.

Park Woojin has grown up in Busan all his life since his birth. Perhaps, you may call him unfortunate; but he was born in the slums, raised by a weak mother who had him at an early age and could barely take care of herself, much more him. He doesn’t blame his mother, doesn’t blame the way their way of life because he thinks, that it has made him the person he is today.

Woojin thinks he’s _ filthy _ . The people in the slums don’t get access to clean water and that’s why they are covered in a permanent layer of grime and dirt, and their clothes are tattered and broken apart at the seams. But he thinks, no matter how filthy and dirty he is, the rich are filthier. They are  _ pitiful _ – how do you live a life knowing that there are people who suffer, who die so that you can live like that?

He knows everyone the slums well: he knows Daehwi and Jinyoung, who are skinnier at their age than they should ever be, he knows how Guanlin wants to learn how to read even though they don’t have books and he knows how Daniel-hyung dreams of performing on the stage one day. Perhaps, it’s childhood idealism that has stuck with him– and this is why, he does this. 

The wind is cold tonight, unlike the typical Busan warmth. Woojin bites on his lower lip, bracing against the wind as he stands on top of a roof, staring straight at the beautiful Western architecture in front of him. He sees the pristine white walls, clean without a trace of dirt. He sees how the people in the building clank their wine glasses together, engaging in small, useless talk. He sees the blatant display of wealth that makes his stomach sick; and he thinks, he’s the one that’s standing on the  _ right  _ side.

 

\--

 

When Woojin manages to sneak into the house, it’s eerily quiet. There is not a lone soul walking around the building. Perhaps, the carpeted floors had a role to play in helping reduce the sound, but Woojin thinks: this is good because it also mutes his own footsteps. Woojin knows what he’s here to do-- he’s a man on a mission.

As he slips around the corridor, he sees all the paintings, flower vases, and the amount of detail that has been etched into the pillars. The display of wealth is revolting, and Woojin wishes to destroy everything until nothing is left and nothing can be salvaged. Woojin wants to see, he wants to see how the rich will be like when they wake up in the morning to nothing– how weak will they be? How would their confidence that’s worn so proudly fade? Woojin resents the rich, and he wants to see them fall.

He sees it, the single room with a silver doorknob instead of gold, and Woojin kneels down and begins to do his job. He has trained in this art since he was so young to be able to do this– picking a lock was the always easiest part. He opens the door and shuts it quickly after him. He needs no one to see what he does, and he must fade away quickly; like the darkness fading when the morning sun rises.

The room is filled with the vast riches: gold accessories everywhere, paintings of them–how narcissistic, Woojin chuckles– and ceramic vases. Everything looks like they have traveled a long way, so much gold poured into them; and Woojin takes his time to pick out what he thinks would fetch the highest price on the black market.

“What are you doing here?”

Woojin doesn’t expect this. He doesn’t expect a hand on the shoulder, a voice sounding from his side– one that belonged to a young boy. His mind goes into an overdrive, trying to think up an excuse as to why he’s here; but he thinks bitterly, he probably can’t even lie his way through because his clothes is a dead giveaway. 

He wonders,  _ is this where it all comes to an end?  _ Everything had been going so well. It wasn’t even the first time that he had stolen from someone’s house. He had lost count of the number of houses that he has memorised the floor plans of, knew every nook and cranny– he thinks, he probably knows more about the architecture of the building than their owner ever did. He had planned everything: choosing a date that he knew that most of the servants would be busy with the party; picked out the corridors that he knew that no one went by, and chose the most subtle room to steal from. Perhaps, deciding to choose to steal from the richest man in Busan was the  _ wrong _ idea, after all.

The voice repeats himself, “Did you not hear me? I asked, what are you doing here?”

As Woojin turns to face the young boy, he chuckles, “I heard you the first time.”

When they meet eyes, Woojin is surprised. He’s taken aback at the sheer gorgeousness, the beauty of the boy who’s standing in front of him. His eyes sparkle in the dark, and Woojin thinks that they probably shine brighter than the stars in the night sky. His clothes are immaculate, perfect and in a gorgeous shade of navy blue and he baths in absolute confidence and charm. He’s smaller than him but Woojin thinks; from the way they moved, the way they dressed, Woojin thinks, he is the one who’s smaller.

“Who are you?” The boy questions, eyes darting into slits but he doesn’t move the hand that’s on Woojin’s shoulder away. “You still haven’t answered my question– what are you doing here?”

“If you can’t tell, I’m a thief,” Woojin chuckles, eyes shifting to look around the room. “I’m nobody. I’m someone that you  _ rich people _ don’t have to concern yourself with.”

The boy looks surprised, like as if he hadn’t been expecting that Woojin is a thief. Any ounce of surprise dissipates in the next moment as he coughs and says, “Well, enlighten me then. Who exactly are you? And what were you planning to steal?”

It’s strange. Well, it’s not that Woojin has ever been discovered before, but he had never expected things to flow like this if the day that he was discovered were to come. He had always thought that there would be a dramatic revelation: officers shining torches at him while he’s picking away at a chest. No time for words, because he’s brought away. It’s an interesting situation, one that Woojin had never anticipated. So Woojin thinks, he might as well roll with it. 

“I’m Park Woojin, from the slums,” he says, eyes now staring straight into the boy’s own. There’s no change in the boy’s reaction and Woojin wonders, what is he thinking about? “I wanted to steal the most expensive thing in this room, of course.”

“The most expensive thing, huh,” the boy mutters, retracting his hand to place it under his chin. “Why does everyone want the most expensive item here?”

It sounds like a genuine question, and Woojin takes it upon himself to reply him. “Why not? Do you not know how much money it can fetch?”

“Of course I do,” he replies. “It’s funny how everyone says that they want the riches and they resort to it by _stealing_.”

If there was any ounce of interest that Woojin ever had in the boy standing in front of him, he feels the feelings dissipate and being replaced with emotions of burning hot anger. This is why he hated the rich so much. They never understood how it was like to be poor, to live in the slums and grow up in that toxic environment. No matter how much they tried, their birth would always pull them back and anchor them in their original state. They can hide, but the truth eventually gets revealed, and the consequences are always worst. 

Woojin decides, there is no longer a need for him to be civil; to treat everything like an experience. He’s possessed with pent-up anger and frustration, and he snaps, “Of course. You rich people are born with all these, why would you need to steal them right?

“Were you born without a roof over your head? Were you born into a village where there’s so much rampant suffering, you question why you were even born? Did you ever wonder, how is it like to be poor?” 

It’s easy. It’s always easier to shift the blame onto the rich, onto the people who have more power than the poor ever would. Woojin watches the boy, who scrunches his nose once, twice, and he clears his throat to speak.

“I can’t picture what you ever lived with because I was never born poor,” he admits. The sheer confidence and commanding tone are still present in his voice: “You are an interesting fellow though, Park Woojin.”

The boy takes a step, another step, and another step until he’s in front of Woojin. “You have piqued my interest,” he says as he takes Woojin’s chin into his hands. “Bring me to your slums. I want to see who you are, and what you are for myself.

“Of course, this means that you can’t take anything from this room tonight. You  _ should _ consider yourself lucky, for I am letting you go so easily, for something that is considered as a  _ crime _ .” 

Woojin hates how he feels so powerless in front of this manipulative young boy, who has successfully ridden him of all the confidence that he had as a thief, who never once met failure. He wants to resist, wants to yell a huge “Fuck no!” but when he meets his eyes, he feels himself crumbling to the pressure and he says, “Of course.”

The boy smirks and he turns around, preparing to head out of the room. It’s then, that Woojin realises that he has no idea who this boy is, and he should at least know his name. He raises his voice, “Wait. You haven’t told me who are you.”

The navy blue coat glitters under the moonlight, and the boy turns his head back slightly. His expression is unreadable, and he winks at Woojin. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“I’m Park Jihoon, the son of the man you planned to steal from.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> short, but i hope you enjoyed this! hit me up on [twitter](http://twitter.com/99izm) if you're a 2park enthusiast.
> 
> PSA: we're hosting a 2park secret santa for this year. if you're interested, do check out our [twitter](http://twitter.com/2prkss)!
> 
> thank you for taking your time to read this ♡


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